Four More Stories
by potsiesgirl
Summary: A companion piece to my very first fic, Remembered Impulses. How do the rest of the Creekers see this shifting dynamic between Joey & Pacey, once lovers, now only friends? Season Six Series, Story No. 3
1. Four More Stories: Chapter One

**Chapter One: What She Saw From the Door**

The room was dark when she awoke, suddenly, as if pulled abruptly from a dream. But she had not been dreaming. Audrey sat up in her bed and groaned. Her head was still wobbly, her mouth felt dry and cottony, and her body ached with the sluggishness of too many drinks in too little time. Yet despite this, her mind was now fully-functioning. Pacey. Pacey had come to her door earlier tonight, contrite and apologetic, after bailing on a night out with her, Jen and Jack to instead go out with his business brethren to a strip club, no less. Granted, he seemed conflicted about it. Truly remorseful. But he said he could not decline the invitation, not to the upper brass of his company – not when he had been specifically singled out for the opportunity and he was working so hard to make a place for himself there.

Audrey glanced beside her and saw an indented emptiness. He had been here. Evidence of another human form had compressed itself into those tangled sheets, in the slightly hollowed out pillow, and she could smell traces of the subtle, musky cologne she had given him as a gift last summer lingering there. Where was he now? Did he leave? She stumbled out of her bed and came to stand in the middle of the room. Checking the glowing digital alarm clock perched by Joey's bedside, she realized it was the very wee hours of the morning. And Joey's bed was still made -- untouched and unslept in. Did she actually meet some guy at the bar tonight? Maybe she went home with said guy after her shift? Maybe it was even _Eddie_? The beginnings of a wicked grin pulled at the corner of her lips. Well, wouldn't that be the end of all things! Bunny indulging in a random one-night stand! Audrey caught the thought and revised it. Bunny indulging in a one-night stand with _someone new_ that was not one Mr. Dawson "Soulmate" Leery, that is.

Audrey sighed and grabbed a towel from her nightstand, feeling the need to refresh herself. She noticed the door was unlocked, and with knitted brow, she turned the knob and slowly pulled on it. It had opened just slightly when her eyes registered two people sitting on the window bench just down the hallway, talking to each other. In the second it took for her to realize that it was Pacey and Joey, she found herself pushing the door closer to shut, leaving just a small crack wide enough for her to peer through it without either one of them noticing. She did not know what had compelled her to do that -- ordinarily, she would have just proclaimed her presence and sauntered merrily over to join their chat. But there was something in the way they were settled there, in the easy way they were conversing that gave Audrey pause. A casual cocoon of _togetherness _surrounded them.

They were each ensconced in their own corners on the small bench, facing each other, and there was barely enough room on that bench for the both of them. But they had maneuvered themselves into the space well enough to make it work. Joey's feet were both up, her knees bent, her hands in her lap. Pacey had one leg up on the bench, his knee also bent, and one leg stretched out in front of him, parallel to the bench, probably keeping him from slipping clear off. One arm was flung across its back, a casual fist resting on top of one of Joey's knees. Since Pacey was a naturally affectionate person, much like herself, that detail, in and of itself, did not bother her. Besides, those two had known each other forever. Nevertheless, Audrey felt an unsettling sensation starting at the pit of her stomach.

It was a purely platonic discussion. She could not really hear what they were saying, but she could tell there was nothing untoward going on. _And why would there be?_ she found herself asking. Joey was her best friend. And, that brainy brunette had told her firmly last year, _Pacey doesn't cheat_. They were laughing suddenly, and Pacey was pushing at Joey's knee, playful. She saw Joey lean over and swat him gently across the top of his head.

"Ow!" she heard him protest, his voice growing loud in that moment. He rubbed his head. "What was that for?"

She couldn't hear Joey's response, but she was grinning and they were teasing each other, an unforced, effortless bantering. It was something she had seen a hundred times since she had known the both of them, and it was something she was sure they had always indulged in across the many years of their childhood and growing up years. And then she saw it. That look. It came out of nowhere -- a crackling connected gaze that could stop someone in their tracks. That could stop a heartbeat. It startled her, and she felt a quick flash of pain. From the look of things, it startled them as well.

When Pacey finally dropped his eyes first, Audrey felt herself let go of the breath she had not realized she was holding. Mesmerized, she watched as Pacey opened his hand to cup Joey's knee and squeeze it. A long moment passed before she saw Pacey glance back up at Joey with a changed look -- less intense and more sweet – a little boy smile, pure and almost innocent. Though she had been watching Pacey with a careful gaze just a moment before, Joey suddenly smiled back in kind – an easy, answering smile of a little girl – and she placed her hand on top of his, intertwining their fingers briefly, gently affectionate. It was an exchange completely devoid of unseemly intentions, yet Audrey felt slammed in the gut. Because it indicated something deeper and stronger, something ever-present, begun from long ago, still underpinning the now.

Audrey closed the door. She could not bear to watch any longer. Because what she saw there, from the door, was something she had not caught onto before, in any of their prior interactions – in none of the past banter or mocking insults or tossed-about challenges or even the caring conversational asides or friendly concerned advice exchanged between them in the whole year preceding this one. And, for a brief second, she had reveled in it too, in spite of herself. Because what she saw in that inadvertent moment was real, permanent, and never-ending. It was love, plain and simple – the deep, unadulterated love of two people who would always be connected, who could never be apart in their hearts, in their souls, ever.

Audrey crawled back into her bed, dazed. If there wasn't a Joey, could Pacey ever look at her like that? And then she understood -- it was never Dawson, despite Joey's assertions to the contrary. It had always been Pacey. And it always would be, even though she probably did not know it yet, in true Joey Potter fashion. And Pacey? With a sinking heart, she knew a part of him was already coming to the realization that Joey was the one for him. That's why he dropped his eyes first. Because he had too much integrity to pursue that route now. Joey was right, _Pacey doesn't cheat_. What she did not yet understand was that Pacey would never cheat on _her_, on Josephine Potter, never in the way it only ever really counts.

So Audrey found herself crying. And when Pacey re-entered the room and came to her, as she knew he would -- because he was not the kind of man to walk away from things, not any more -- when he slid back into the bed behind her and wrapped a comforting arm around her, asking her in a low concerned voice what was wrong, she shook her head and turned to him for his kiss, grabbing consolation from it and clutching him to her, desperate. Because deep within, she already knew it would only be a matter of time that they would figure it out, that they would gravitate toward each other again. What she saw from the door was a new beginning. And for her, an end that had just begun.


	2. Four More Stories: Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: What He Sensed At the Refrigerator**

Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee…

The litany chorused gaily in his brain, reverberating. Why the hell does everything reverberate so much when you have a hangover? Jack thought, pausing in his ministrations with the coffee bean grinder, the coffee filter and the scoop. Shrugging that errant thought away, he dropped the filter into the coffee-maker, poured some water into its barrel, and then flicked the switch to brew. Ah, morning rituals! Ritual was vastly underrated. There was nothing like a cup of Starbucks, sans bucks, first thing in the morning. Pacey smuggled home 2 lb. bags of Starbucks coffee beans from his office at the end of every week, whenever he was the last one out, which, lately, he usually was. So, like clockwork, every Saturday morning, Jack would awake to find a new 2 lb. flavor perched upon the kitchen counter. Currently, he was brewing up some Arabian Mocha Java from last week's pilfering. His brow furrowed a bit when he suddenly realized there was no new bag – or flavor – to greet him this morning. Something was amiss.

The throb at his temples and the sluggishness in his bones seemed to increase as he scrolled back through his memory to recall the previous night's events. Oh yeah – Pacey and Audrey had a fight and she drowned her cell phone. Or did she drown her cell phone first and then they had the fight? Did they fight about the cell phone drowning? He frowned and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He was having trouble thinking straight. He paused at that thought, _trouble thinking straight_. It made him giggle.

And then he remembered something else – Professor Freeman and him, sharing a beer, discussing The Simpsons and then the ride home in his car. _"You have a natural gift for looking beneath the surface and seeing what's really going on,"_ the hot Professor of Popular Culture and Society had said to him, earlier that night. And then later, that same Professor—married to a woman with a kid on the way -- basically admitted he was attracted to him, his student. Jack groaned. It was one thing to have a crush on a stud-muffin teacher, believing it would most certainly go unrequited; it was another thing entirely to have the possibility of requitedness actually possible. _Requitedness_. Was that a real word?

Jack wanted some company in his morning-after addle-mindedness, so he decided to share the misery. Emma was off at a bandmate's house for the weekend, slaving over a new set of songs for her Hell's Kitchen debut, so going over to the spiral staircase that led up to Pacey's bedroom, he mounted the steps, intending to rip into his other roommate for messing up his Saturday morning ritual by not delivering the new Starbuck's coffee flavor, as expected. He pushed open the door, trying to decide between violently yanking off the bedcovers so Pacey could fall in a tangle onto the floor or jumping on his prone, sleeping form to awaken him to a good dose of pain and breathlessness, but stopped short on the threshold instead and just stared. Joey was sleeping in Pacey's bed. She was sprawled there, on her stomach, entangled in the sheets, the comforter half-wrapped around her, sleeping soundly and if he wasn't mistaken, snoring softly. And she was wearing Pacey's black-and-yellow hockey jersey.

He quickly backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, careful to do it gently so he would not wake her up. Practically stumbling down the stairs, he scooted himself back to the kitchen and looked out the window to the street below. The red Mustang was parked there, next to the curb. So where the hell was Pacey? And what was Joey doing here in his bed, wearing his hockey jersey? Skeletons in the closet. Professors in the closet. His head started to throb again. Too many damn closets in this world and all he wanted to do was drink his Starbucks coffee and let the reverb in his brain go softly down into that good dark night. Except that it was morning. Shit, still addled and all alone with it. He needed to call in the troops for this one. So he did the only thing he could do. He called Jen from his cell phone.

Jack was in the middle of an urgent, whispered conversation with her when he heard someone on the staircase. Looking up, he saw Joey sleepily making her way down from upstairs. Oh, Jesus. He almost dropped his phone.

"Hey, Joey!" he said, greeting her. "Uh, is Pacey up there?"

"He's in my room." She closed her eyes, breathing in the aroma of the freshly-brewing coffee. "Mmmm….Arabian Mocha Java."

"So wait… Pacey is in _your_ room back at Worthington and you're here in _his_ room right now? What's up with the musical chairs?" Then, "Jen, don't-" He sighed and flipped his cell phone off. "Um…Jen had to go. She says hi."

Joey nodded in response and casually walked over to the kitchen counter to pick a clean coffee mug out of the washed dishes bin. Jack automatically noticed that her slim frame was practically engulfed within that black-and-yellow hockey jersey. He found himself asking her, before he could prevent the question from slipping out, "Isn't that Pacey's?" Duh, McPhee. The large block letters WITTER were only prominently emblazoned across her back. Hangover no-lips-are-ever-sealed syndrome strikes again. Joey shrugged and mumbled something about her getting cold in the middle of the night and that it was the only thing on his floor that smelled clean. She had her back to him, but Jack could see the curve of her cheek and detected a slight blush there. Immediately, he sensed something brewing here. And it wasn't just the coffee.

So he asked her about how she ended up here, in their apartment, next. As she poured her coffee, she told him about bumping into Pacey in her room and the talk they had in the hallway, late last night. Then, she told him about seeing Dawson and Natasha, earlier than that. Jack ruminated over the name _Natasha_ for a second. It sounded so exotic. Dawson and exotic – it did not quite add up in his brain. And now Joey was telling him about kissing Eddie, the cute bartender at Hell's Kitchen, somewhere in the middle of those two events. Jack nodded approvingly, recalling that particular piece of eye-candy from the bar they always liked to frequent, but then, Joey was back to her conversation with Pacey and Jack Kerouac. Wait – wasn't Jack Kerouac dead? Another thought sprung out of him, refusing to stay subconscious -- "Whoa, you told Pacey you kissed Eddie?"

"No. I kind of skipped that part." But then Jack noticed another slight blush staining Joey's cheek. Curiouser and curiouser.

"So you kissed Pacey…" his voice trailing off when he realized his inadvertent slip. Okay, McPhee, he thought, hangovers are no excuse for constantly saying stupid things. Man, he needed his coffee now. Seemingly reading his mind, Joey immediately handed him a cup – the coffee black, just as he liked it. Ah, good friends are like wine – they age with you. Wait, that wasn't quite right. Damn! Could he still be _drunk_, and not hungover at all?

"I didn't kiss _Pacey_," Joey continued, a little defensive. "I kissed _Eddie_."

An unspoken afterthought hung out there in the air between them. Jack could sense it. She had kissed the one boy, but he could sense that maybe, just maybe, she had also wanted to kiss the other one. Joey was telling him about this Eddie guy but whenever Pacey's name was brought up, she blushed and tensed up. He could sense it all there, beneath the surface. There were big things afoot. Huge things. His head started throbbing again. No, he was just getting all of this mixed up.

After a long night of drinking, drama, and maybe on-the-verge-of-being-un-closeted professors, _these _skeletons needed to stay in _this_ closet, for now. At least until he was clear-headed enough to unravel it all. Hangovers, especially after stunning disclosures about one's sexuality in cars, were just not conducive to lucid conversation. And unraveling anything to do with Pacey and Joey required way more concentration than he was capable of at present.

So what he sensed at the refrigerator, as Joey went to get the milk for her own cup of coffee, was that a change of subject was in order. He leaned over and grabbed the box of Cheerios from its hallowed place on the counter.

"Hey, Joey…want some cereal to go with that coffee?"


	3. Four More Stories: Chapter Three

**What She Heard On the Phone**

Jen's cell phone rang and she picked it up on the first ring. Despite the convenient existence of caller ID, she knew it was Jack. It was early this Saturday morning, but she knew that try as he might, Jack always popped his eyes open early the morning after anything. His coffee craving always took care of that. Plus, there was his need for a bowl of Cheerios to ground the rest of his day. He would probably stumble back to bed after indulging in that personal ritual of his and then sleep away again until twilight.

"Hello, my love!" Jen chirped. "And how are you this fine morning?" she trilled, purposefully loud to penetrate the hangover haze she knew Jack was belaboring under.

"Hey, Jen," Jack said tiredly into the cell phone. She could just picture him bringing his finger and thumb up to squeeze the insistent throbbing beginning at the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, Jack!" Jen practically yelled into the phone. Then, she launched into full-fledged conversation. "So the birds are awake, the sun is shining, and I am suffering absolutely no after-effects from last night's debauchery and hedonism because – oh that's right – I did not quite imbibe so fully in said debauchery and hedonism. And why not, you ask?"

"Well-," he started to say.

She barreled on. "Because I was too busy taking care of drunk and depressed Audrey and spilling beer on too-cute-to-be-real but totally uninterested in me C. J. and you just up and disappeared on me with Professor Yummy – which I want every single detail about, by the way – and so there is nothing to make fun of me for, this fine morning after, because we did not even dance on one single table top-"

"-Audrey did. On several-"

"-and it's enough to make me hide my head in the deepest of shames! Me, the former up-all-night-in-the-city-that-never-sleeps-party-girl, waking up closer to sober the morning after the biggest and best party of the year! I'm telling you, Jack-"

"Jen!" Jack whispered loudly, cutting in, forceful.

"What?" Jen said, annoyed at his interruption. "And why are you whispering?"

"Joey's here."

"So?"

"In Pacey's bed."

She paused. "What!?" Then, lowering her voice now to a mutual whisper, she asked, "Is Pacey in there with her?"

"I'm not sure, actually."

"Wait! What were you doing in Pacey's bedroom anyway? Giving in to some weird dormant yearning for your roommate, Jack? Do you go in there when he's not home to smell his stuff or something?"

"Uh, no," he replied, dismissively. She envisioned him shuddering at the thought. "Jen – he dated my sister once! Anyway, I went in to give him a hard time about the Starbucks-"

"-Oooh! What flavor did he bring this time?"

"He didn't. Thus, the intended hard time."

"I see. So you walked in and you saw Joey, but you're not sure if Pacey is in there with her?"

"Well, I peeked in and when I saw Joey there, I backed right out."

"You are _so_ not good at getting the gossip! Was she naked?"

"It's not like I'd be interested or anything-"

"-No, doofus. If she was naked, that would indicate some kind of illicit activity. And Audrey and Pacey were fighting last night! Oh, Jesus!"

"Jen, keep your voice down," Jack whispered fervently.

"Why? I'm not _there_."

"Oh yeah…but no. She wasn't naked. She was wearing Pacey's hockey jersey."

"The black-and-yellow one from high school? Oh – I like that one!"

"Yeah, me too. If his name wasn't splashed across it, I would've filched it a long time ago."

"Yeah, well, anyways, Jack, you need to go back up there and investigate."

"You're kidding, right? I mean, you have _got_ to be joking, Jen!"

"Look – before I start jumping to all of the conclusions I want to be jumping to right now, I want to make sure it's warranted. I put a very drunk, very sad, and very broken Audrey to bed last night in her dorm room. This would be a serious breach of roommate etiquette and I simply want to be prepared for the massive fallout, if it should occur."

"Like Pacey dating _Joey's_ roommate wasn't already a kind of breach?"

"She gave them her blessing. That doesn't count. I highly doubt Audrey gave them her blessing in this case. Now, go!"

"That's too much potential conflict for me. _You_ deal with it. You're the one with the advice counselor ears. Oh shit, here she comes." Jack's voice grew louder, in greeting. "Hey, Joey! Uh, is Pacey up there?"

Joey's response was muffled through the phone line. She must have been on the other side of the room.

"So wait...Pacey is in your room back at Worthington and you're here in his room right now? What's up with the musical chairs?" she heard Jack say.

"Tell Joey I said hi," Jen said. Then, "I'm calling Pacey."

"Jen, don't-" Click. She pressed the automatic dial number for Pacey's cell phone and waited. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick-

"Yeah, Lindley?" a gruff voice answered, husky from recent slumber.

"Uh – hey, Pacey! What's going on?"

"Nothing much, besides being rudely awakened on a Saturday morning at," there was a split-second pause "-shit, 8:08 am. And you?"

"Oh, just thought I'd call, you know, to see what's up," she said, her tone breezy, adding, "At 8:08 in the morning."

"Is this about the fight I had with Audrey last night?" Pacey asked, cutting to the chase.

"Um…I don't know." Jen paused and then asked carefully, "Is Audrey there with you?"

"No," Pacey replied, his voice flat. "I think she slipped out of here while I was asleep." She heard him sigh, "And that's pretty damn early for her to be out and about, so she must still be upset."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Jen asked, adjusting her tone towards empathy.

"No, not so much," Pacey responded. She heard him sigh again. An accompanying grunt had her deducing that he was sitting up now. The faint rustling of bedsheets in the background confirmed that he was shifting around, on the bed at least. Then, footsteps on the hardwood floor and a door opening. Now, the distinct sound of a stream of bodily-fluid waste hitting a porcelain bowl.

"Pacey! Are you _peeing_?"

"Uh, yeah. It's what I do, first thing in the morning. You know, relieve myself of liquid build-up during the night."

"You brought me into the bathroom?"

"Correction. I brought the cell phone into the bathroom. You just happen to be on it. I had it tucked between my shoulder and ear, if that makes you feel any better." She heard the faucet turn on and hands rubbing together. Thank God he was a hand washer. The faucet was switched off and she heard Pacey yawn and shuffle back into the room.

"But seriously, Pacey, I'm the perfect person to talk to, seeing as I have these advice counselor ears and all. It's what I _do_ and I used to get paid for it. You'd be getting it for free."

She heard him chuckling on the other side of the line.

"Jen, I am not in need of your radio psychiatry expertise this early in the morning."

"Well, it sounds like you might be."

"Don't always believe everything you hear," he replied, enigmatic.

"So how _was_ she last night?" Jen ventured.

"She was okay. I gave her my car keys and told her to go back to my apartment to sleep."

"I thought you said Audrey just left this morning."

"Oh – I meant Joey. I gave Joey my keys and she's sleeping at my apartment." There was a brief pause.  
"I don't know why I just told you that."

Jen digested this nonsequitur, thoughtful. "Uh…was Joey upset too?"

"Well, she saw Dawson yesterday, and the woman he apparently, uh, _dallied_ with last summer. She's an actress on his set."

"Whoa!"

"Yeah, that's what I said too."

"So she came home upset and you gave her your keys and she left?"

"No – we talked for a little while outside in the hallway."

"You and she and Audrey?"

"No, just me and she."

"Oh." Jen chewed on her lower lip, once again thoughtful. "And Audrey was…"

"Fast asleep in her bed." She heard yet another pause and sigh. "What are you getting at, Jen?"

"Nothing at all, Pace. Just lending you my ear and letting you pour whatever you want into it."

She heard a dull thump and correctly surmised that he had plopped himself back down onto the bed.

"Will you be giving me this third degree for much longer, Jen? Much as I adore you, generally, I'm really not in the mood for it right now." Jen could just picture him rubbing his hand over his face tiredly.

"Look, Pace. I brought Audrey home last night and she was pretty messed up. She was really upset about the fight you two had."

"I know," Pacey concurred, his voice shaded with regret. "That's why I came over here. And _stayed_ over here."

"So where does Joey fit into all of this?" Jen could not help but ask.

"She doesn't," Pacey said automatically. Then, almost as if he could not help himself, he added softly, "She shouldn't."

Jen's ears caught at something underneath Pacey's words that made her suddenly alert. She once stated that she was roadkill on the Dawson and Joey highway -- and Pacey himself had been a victim as well; hell, they and Jack could form their own Roadkill Not Anonymous Support Group Program -- but the Pacey and Joey Show was another thing entirely. She had always known those two were on a different road together, one that meandered, sometimes diverging, but always meeting up again at forks and corners throughout. If Dawson and Joey were the highway, barreling straight for an inevitable end, flattening everything in their path, then Pacey and Joey were those back streets you take to get to the same destination, twisting and turning alongside, open to fresh discoveries and visits with friends, old and new, along the way. But it was still yet unclear who would get to the intended destination first. And intentions, as they say, even if good, always paved a road straight to hell in the interim.

"Pacey, if things get sticky with Audrey, you know you can talk to me right? I know things haven't been easy lately. And yeah, I'm looking at it from the side she often sits on these days. But you and me, we go way back. And if you ever need me to help provide a little more comprehensive perspective, well, you always know where to find me," she told him.

"And you, me," Pacey said, sardonic but chuckling.

Jen smiled. "Well yes, there's that too," she added, acknowledging his reference to her far superior get-into-one's-business-without-being-overly-nosy-ways. "I'm all about the follow up, you know."

Pacey laughed this time and Jen heard relaxation seep back into his tone.

"Everyone seems to have counseling advice for me these days. Even Rich – that ass – threw his two pennies in last night."

"And what did he say?" Jen asked, curious. She had heard heaping earfuls about that self-indulgent, bordering-on-evil boss of his from Audrey, Jack, and even Joey, on occasion.

"To quote him exactly, _'If you love her and you're sorry, she'll know, man.'_ "

"That sounds good. I mean, you _do_ love her, you _were_ sorry, and she _knew_, right?" Jen listened carefully, those advice counselor ears attuned to any nuances in his tone, in the background noise, in all the pauses and sighs.

What she heard was silence. And that spoke louder than anything.


	4. Four More Stories: Chapter Four

** What He Said Beneath the Words**

Sometimes words do not say enough.

Pacey lay sprawled on his back in the middle of Audrey's bed, dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, staring up at the ceiling above. _Audrey, I don't know what it is that you want me to say. I mean, I'm really sorry_, he had said, the night before. But when he looked into Audrey's eyes, he saw only resignation and wariness there. She asked him to come inside, to hold her, and he had done so, without hesitation. Because it was what he _should_ do. What he _wanted_ was another thing entirely. Hell – what _did_ he want these days? He rolled over and punched at Audrey's fuzzy hot pink headrest, feeling futile.

Maybe words say too much.

Audrey was crying when he came back in from the hallway, after he sent Joey off into the earliest hours of a new morning. Quickly flipping off his shoes, he yanked his loose tie from around his neck, and slipped into the bed behind her, asking her what was wrong. She rolled over, sudden; so he kissed her, soothing. And then, as they always did lately, they had sex to ease the pain. The last time was three weeks ago – a vast eternity in Audrey-land. Damn, that was an unkind thought. He was an ass. But he did not_ want_ to be an ass.

Things could be said to make things all better.

Pacey knew this. He had said such things before. Said them, and meant them. When he had asked Audrey to be his girlfriend during Spring Break in Florida, he had meant it. When he told her at the beginning of summer, on the intercom at the airport, that she was amazing and she rocked his world, he meant that too. When he told her he loved her on the phone yesterday afternoon, before the incident-that-caused-the-current-strife occurred, he certainly meant what he said. _These_ things, so full of meaning, he would never say lightly.

But then, there are the things you do not say.

Understanding gazes and teasing glances shared, while settled on a bench in a deserted dormitory hallway, passing the time with an old friend. Unspoken remembrances of a shared past inserted between name-that-moment asides, personal updates, a never-expected literary conversation, and the ever-present banter. And then, a disquieting look saturated with meaning. After that, hushed comfort from a brief tangle of fingers, resting on her knee.

Sometimes, words are not needed at all.

Restless, Pacey rolled off of the bed and onto his feet. He strode the small length of the room, back and forth once, and had turned to start another leg when his eye caught the edge of something sticking out from beneath Joey's bed. He went over, leaned down, and plucked it up from beneath the hanging comforter that barely brushed the floor. Joey's tattered, used copy of Jack Kerouac's **_On the Road_**.

Figures, Pacey thought, recalling one of last night's literary references -- _The road is life_. Hell, this road he was traveling on right now was a damned long and winding one. As much as Joey seemed to think he was on a new and improved path, he, himself, was lately feeling only swerves and bumps on this particular journey. As he flipped through the remembered pages, he idly wondered if she needed the book today. Should he bring it back with him, to his apartment? Was she even still at his apartment? Shit. Why was he even thinking about Joey in his apartment at all? There was still Audrey to contend with.

As if he had conjured her, his thoughts suddenly powerful and magic in that instant, Audrey re-entered the room. She seemed tired and a little jumpy. He went still, the book open in one hand, the other paused in the motion of turning yet another page of it. They looked at each other. Pacey closed the book, resolute, and took a step toward Audrey. She stayed him with an upheld palm.

"Let's just forget about last night, okay? Just go on like it never happened. You're here, and that's all I need. It's all I want."

"So what do you want to do now?" he asked her, treading careful, his eyes caught on her fragile gaze.

"I'm going to take a shower. And then we'll go to your apartment. I'd like to stay with you for awhile. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Pacey said, coming over finally, wrapping his arms around her. Audrey grabbed onto him, returning the hug. "Joey might still be there. She stayed over last night. So we could be alone," he added, by way of explanation.

He felt Audrey's hold on him tighten for a fraction of a second, and then she sighed and burrowed her face into his neck, nodding. Frowning, he ran a consoling hand over her back and smoothed a gentle hand through her blonde hair. She released him then, and without looking at him, abruptly turned to walk into the bathroom.

"Audrey," Pacey said, her name springing out between them to halt her retreat. Something beneath these recent words had left him perplexed, bemused, even a little sad.

Turning back, she stood there, on the threshold in front of the door, staring at him. He saw pain in her eyes and a strange, feverish look he was not sure how to read. It looked like a tortured version of hope. He wanted to make things better. He wanted to help her heal. He thought about what he could say to soothe her, to reassure her, to bring back meanings that would make her feel whole again. Deep down, he knew that what he should say was, "I love you and nothing else matters to me but you."

What he said was, "Never mind."

And beneath the words, meanings shifted but stayed buried, for now.


	5. Four More Stories: Epilogue

**What They Did In the Meantime****  
****(An Epilogue)**

**mean time** (meen' tîm') **adv. 1** in or during the intervening time **2** at the same time **–n.** the intervening time. (from **_Webster's New World Dictionary: Third College Edition_**)

In every meantime, when words and intentions remain unspoken and undefined, one can infer a lot about a person's state of mind, simply from assessing the state of her or his bedroom.

If there is _some_ clutter, but it is mostly neat, the bits and pieces organized just so -- a tossed-about article of clothing here and there, or a literary book accidentally left beneath a bed -- it could connote a well-ordered mind with tendencies to sometimes meander. Perhaps this person prefers rigidity in some cases but actually fancies fun in others. The layers to thoughts and purposes may take some time to uncover, even for that person to discover, before inching forward toward any unequivocal revelations.

On the other hand, if a bedroom evinces _all_ clutter, one can presume that person is open to everything, perhaps too much so, grabs at all that is offered, and is too busy moving forward to bother with cleaning up the messes left behind – shoes haphazardly left around a pile of dirty-or-maybe-clean laundry on the floor, a dated newspaper flung in a corner to make way for the new one, an old high school hockey jersey flung over a chair, askew. Perhaps this person exudes a more laid-back personality with a tendency to sometimes let bothersome things slide. Yet often, some kind of internal order arranges itself beneath the apparent external disorder, always progressing, resolute, toward an inevitable conclusion.

In Joey's bedroom, Pacey lingered next to her desk by the bed while he waited for Audrey to finish her ministrations in the bathroom. For a former tomboy, Joey had become such a girly-girl in her emerging adulthood, he thought, amused. Her bed was covered by the palest of blue and pink pastels arranged in a delicate, gauzy design, a pretty country quilt comforter, in similar pastels but including some greens and yellows, folded nicely to drape over the foot of the bed, with a large, narrow-ruffled pillow, sweetly embroidered with butterflies, perched atop the matched-sheet sleeping pillow, at the head of it.

On the small fragile-looking nightstand next to her bed, a contemporary lamp with a slender bright blue base and a vanilla shade stood sentinel next to a huge, yellow flower-ball hovering stem-straight over a small pot. Pacey had no idea what kind of flower it was, but it looked like a big, yellow, fluffy chrysanthemum or something. Who would have thought the little girl with the mean left hook would grow up to prefer such ladylike things?

An overlarge poster print of Monet's _Water Lilies, 1907_ from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts hung, significant, on the wall on the other side of the bed. Pacey smiled. He had given it to her for her birthday during their senior year in high school, not because he knew anything really about art – though all of those impassioned commentaries on art and artists that Joey had often brought into their conversations on the _True Love_ had actually sunk into his brain enough so that he knew that Impressionism was her favorite artistic genre -- but because it portrayed lilies and that had been her mother's nickname, "Lily," and Lily had always loved the water. Pacey also loved the water and that summer on their boat, Joey had learned to love it, too.

All around her area of the room were small-to-tiny photographs set in mostly silver or pewter filigree-type frames – they were perched on the nightstand, on the desk, and all along the wall border halfway between the floor and the high ceiling which ran around the entire room. It jutted out just slightly enough for these pictures to fit there. More photographs were inserted amidst criss-crossed ribbons on a fabric bulletin board directly over the bed.

Pacey leaned closer to look at the memories displayed there. Several were of their regular gang – he, Dawson, Joey, Jen, Andie and Jack -- from their high school years; more than a few had just Dawson and Joey in them. This did not surprise him. At the center of the board was a solo shot of him on the _True Love_ several years ago, leaning on the rolled-up sail, smile bordering on a laugh. This surprised him. He cracked a smile now, absurdly glad that he still had a singular place in that improvised universe of memories arranged there on the board. Then, he grinned. That Potter girl who had wanted so desperately to get out of Capeside brought it with her in every size, shape and form, still surrounding herself with those recollections.

Pacey bent to pick up Joey's copy of **_On the Road_**, which he had earlier tossed on the bed upon Audrey's entrance. _I thought the book was about a series of journeys one takes in order to grow_, he remembered telling Joey, the night before. His mind went further back to the end of last summer, sitting with Joey on the docks in Capeside, he in a silly security guard uniform, she with that letter from Dawson shoved into her pocket. _She changed my life, you know_, she had said, talking about Audrey, her first real girl-confidante. _Yeah, I know_, he had replied, adding, _of course, there's always the other option_. And at her murmured inquiry, he had answered, _that _**_you_**_ changed it_. Moving over to the bookshelf by the desk, he placed the book there, flat and visible to ensure later re-discovery, for the time being.

Meanwhile, in Pacey's room, Joey sat on his bed, holding that old high school hockey jersey in her lap, and surveyed her surroundings, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. It was such a _guy's_ room. The bedclothes were bold solids – maroon-red sheets, gray-blue pillows and a thick reversible comforter, one side a deeper red, the other a darker gray-blue – the distinctive colors, a study in contrasts. Just like the person who usually slept there – sometimes a goof-ball; other times, deceptively sharp and probing.

On the wall, adjacent to the bed, a mini-basketball hoop was hung next to a tiny round dartboard on the wall. These were purely decorative, she knew. Firstly, because though Pacey excelled at basketball-viewing, he sucked at the playing part of it. And secondly, because Pacey most certainly did _not_ suck at darts and would require a much bigger board in a larger room to feel truly challenged. A small poster was taped up beside these – an inexplicable visual rendering of two sets of clouds amidst a bright blue sky background. It looked like the type of promotional poster one would get from a bank. Joey stood up and walked over to investigate and, to her smug satisfaction, discovered the familiar green title logo of the local Citizens Bank stamped at the bottom of it.

Standing now by the low dresser against the wall, Joey turned her attention to some of the things on its surface beneath her. His lamp was appropriately tacky – its base a wood-carved figure of some kind of tribesman topped by a large lampshade that he probably picked up from a tourist shop on one of the Caribbean islands he sailed around two summers ago. A bottle of expensive cologne, bought for him by Audrey from Fred Segal's in Los Angeles, stood next to it. Ah…so _that_ was the intriguing scent she had detected coming from him early, early this morning, when she was standing before him and he had pressed that brief kiss onto her forehead in gentle goodbye. Joey's eyes quickly shifted to something else, stopping further thoughts from emerging, as was her habit these days.

One large framed photograph perched there on the top of the dresser. It was of the six of them – she, Pacey, Audrey, Dawson, Jack and Jen – walking together in a straight line, looking casual and carefree. It had been taken at the end of summer on the Worthington campus, by a kindly parent dropping off her nervous freshman son. She smiled, remembering how Pacey put the young man at ease, teasing him out of his shyness to calm his nerves. His grateful mother was only too happy to snap that photo after that.

It was the only framed photo she could see in this room. Pacey was not the sort to keep tons of pictures on display. Partly because he liked to travel light, since he liked to travel so much, and also because he always looked forward and photos represented a perpetual looking back. _You never look back, do you?_ she had asked him last summer, on that Capeside dock. _Why would you look back?_ he had replied. _The future's out there. And whatever it is, it's gonna be great_. Yet no matter how far he went – and she had a feeling the distances he would travel would be far in mind and spirit too – in her life, he would always be Capeside in her heart, and that was how she would always remember him. She felt grounded by that memory.

Joey looked down at the black-and-yellow hockey jersey she still held in her hands. When they were dating, Pacey let her borrow it to sleep in during the nights they were not together. Of course, it took a good amount of wheedling, numerous debates, and even an argument or two to convince him to let go of it. It was his favorite piece of clothing, after all, for although he was terrible at basketball, his hockey skills were exceptional and his love of the sport, bordering on obsessive. In the end, she simply told him that wearing it made her feel closer to him and safe in his absence. He offered no resistance after that.

When she saw it tossed over the chair at his desk upon her arrival so early this morning, she allowed herself to indulge in that old habit again, just for a little while. Now, she neatly folded the jersey to put away into one of the drawers. She opened the top one and then instantly stilled. Reaching in, she pulled out another photograph, small and unframed, and before she could stop them, this time, memories assailed her.

It was a smaller copy of the black-and-white photograph Dawson had taken of them at the Leery Christmas party, several years ago. They had just come from that Worthington dinner party, so they were dressed in their semi-formal clothes – she in her Audrey Hepburn-esque black dress, he in slacks and a blazer. They were standing next to the Christmas tree and he was behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his head bent, whispering into her ear, her own inclined toward him, and they seemed completely blissful, absorbed only in that exchange. Joey blushed, remembering what he had said to her, his voice low and vibrant, and her response, much later that night. Immediately, she put the photo back into the drawer and placed the hockey jersey there, next to it, gently tucking it in, for continued safekeeping.

Joey had already descended the stairs back down to the living room when her cell phone rang. Glancing down at the caller ID on its screen, she chuckled softly.

"What do you want, Witter?" her voice wry upon answering.

"Is my car okay?" he asked, concerned, though a teasing tone lurked underneath. A slight echoing in the background placed him firmly in the hallway outside of the dorm room.

"Of course it is!" she replied, indignant. "And if it wasn't – well, _you're_ the one who taught me how to drive stick."

"So if _you_ had inadvertently maimed my beloved red Mustang, it would've been entirely _my_ fault for being an inadequate driving instructor in the first place?"

"You said it, not me."

"Funny, Potter. On this one, _you_ can bite _me_."

And so it went, a repartee prolonged in the here and now, because soon, each would move on to other things. Joey would leave Pacey's apartment to run her errands for the day, including a stop over at Hell's Kitchen to check in with Eddie about her work schedule, and she would continue to muse over that nebulous "something else" out there, buoyed by fond memories that would also always anchor her. And Pacey would collect Audrey and her things, taking her away from this room she shared with Joey to bring her back to his place. He would maintain his current course, keeping his focus forward, but always with an unyielding sense that everything was progressing as it should toward a certain destination. And he would keep his memories at bay, for now, enclosed and safe.

Meanwhile, in each of their rooms…a well-thumbed book put back on its rightful place on a shelf, among other books to be read for a more comprehensive education…a hockey jersey, folded neatly, put away in a drawer next to a photograph, resting there while different worlds were explored and new relationships were honored. Sometimes, paths cannot and should not cross in a given present. But there was always the bantering.

"Yeah, right," Joey said, responding to yet another thrust-and-parry.

"Exactly. As you know, I am never wrong," Pacey replied, adding as a riposte, "As opposed to _others_ involved in this current conversation."

"Sheathe the sarcasm, please."

"Sharp edges aren't so good for me this morning either. Consider me sheathed."

_And it was banter, not pride, that goeth before the falling._

So this is what they did, in the meantime.


End file.
